More Mommy Confessions (my favorite kinda post)

So Sunday was Mother's Day. A day where everyone with offspring posts adorable photos of themselves with said offspring. Every profile picture is changed to include moms. There are 7,000 more statuses on your news feed as usual. It's exactly the reason that I refuse to check Facebook during any holidays or sporting events. Repetition. It gets to me. It crawls under my skin and eats away at every fiber of my being. I have zero patience for reading the same thing over and over and over and over and...

So Sunday. We went to the Mystic Aquarium. It was ridiculously fun (even including my minor brain lapse). You see, the Mystic Aquarium was kind enough to invite family bloggers for a day of fun on Saturday, the 11th (the day before Mother's Day). I knew this...and yet for some reason I just got the words "Mother's Day Event" stuck in my mind and so we showed up on Sunday instead of Saturday. How's that for a #bloggerproblem? (#mombrain). And yes, I just hashtagged in my post. I know how annoying that is, but who cares? I kind of like it. So the point is the people at the aquarium were super nice and gave us all the perks we would have experienced the previous day--free admission, meal tickets, and tickets to Sponge Bob in 4D (we made it through the part where you walk in the door and put on the glasses and play around with the chair for a little--and then Carter was ready to leave right around the time the movie started. But hey, you gotta learn to be flexible with an almost two year old, am I right?)

bear shirt from Zulily

Me, Carter and a Beluga, along with two random people.

With the exception of a few meltdowns (including one where Carter threw his Super Man hat into the water--not a tank with animals, don't worry--it was just a little pond by a walkway...but...Super Man hat = no more) the day was a success. I expected Carter to be fussier because of his unfortunate doses of prednisone (curse you, poison ivy!!), but the Beluga whales really held his attention and made him forget about all his woes.

And there it is ^^ so long, super man hat. You will be missed. 

So I have two HUGE confessions and one minor one.

Confession #1: I am a pro at booger-flicking now. Gross, I know, but it's true. What else am I to do when Carter hands them to me from the back seat and I don't have a tissue nearby? It goes like this: Carter yells "Mama! Mama! Mama!" from the back seat. He grunts to let me know he's straining to hand me something. It's a gut reaction. I instinctively reach back and I'm greeted with a booger. Great. Now I have two choices. I can either roll down the window and flick the sucker out, or I try to hold the wheel steady while I reach waaayyy over to the glove compartment to try to grab a tissue, all while endangering our lives. Flicking it is! Are you ever posed with this dilemma? Or are you just super prepared and have a huge box of tissues right in the center console like some super hero or something?

Confession #2: This one starts off good. We're in the midst of potty training. We're 4 days in and we've gone three days straight with consistent potty use (it's been extremely exciting). We've got #2 down. It's the other I'm worried about. There's been pee on the floor, on our screen door, on the bath mat, towels; you name it and it's been peed on. But yesterday....the fridge. He opened the fridge, looked around for a snack, and then apparently thought it was a good time to let it all out. Do you know the disinfecting that is needed after such an occurrence? My goodness, child. Could you have done it anywhere else? Fortunately, he's my favorite child, so I just looked at him and said "Good job! Except we really need to do it just in the potty, okay???????? oookkkkkkkkaaayyy??????????? please???).

And now for a random confession that has nothing to do with anything. I don't understand hipsters. I (kind of) get other cliques, but what are hipsters, really? A bunch of people with wool socks and grandpa glasses? And what about those hipsters from college? Hipsters write weird things in creative writing classes. The following is exactly what a hipster's hipster would write in creative writing. Maybe I'm just not ironic (or genius) enough to get it:

Red, yellow, blue. Sitting in a corner; a dark corner. Green. Stop. Red, yellow, blue. One. Two. Three. Four. Walls are closing. Footsteps. A small girl with a butterfly. Red. Go. One, two, three, four; blue, yellow. Stop.

Oh, you don't get that either? Okay then.

linking up with heather and megan

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Mid-Week Confessions

Yo dawgs.

So right now I should be finishing my project that I'm supposed to be posting about on Friday. It wouldn't really be that fun for me to post about a project I never finished, now would it? It's not even hard to finish, I really only need to put in like 10 minutes of effort, but it's not happening. I'm L to the azy right now.

It could have something to do with the fact that I've been working a crap ton. I really hate that phrase. 

Let me confess a few things to you:

1. I have watched every single episode of Dawson's Creek up to the Season 5 Finale. I'm on that one now. Basically--I do not possess the ability to fall asleep and so that's what I do from 1 am on. It's a good time. I highly suggest re-watching it. It's a thousand times funnier than it was way back when. a) because you can make fun of it and b) because you can make fun of it. 

2. I suck at Elf on the Shelf. The end. It's too boring to write about any longer.

3. Sometimes I wish I could just sit outside in the sun with a computer that you can still see in the sun and write screenplays. Yup, screenplays. And no, I don't live in LA. LOVE screenwriting. Wish it was my job--but I'd have to actually write for that to be the case (oh and all that other BS like submitting it to 98749857389  people) and getting rejected like it's my job, which it basically would be (I don't think you're supposed to end a sentence with "be," but I'm doing it anyway. Wait--I didn't.

4. Sometimes I go back and re-read my already published posts and find a spelling mistake (usually not grammar--go me--yup, I said that--if there are grammar mistakes on here, likely I did it on purpose because I thought it was funny, but didn't point out the fact that I thought it was funny, and just let it sit there like a big mistake) and I feel like a huge idiot, as I should. Oh, and I like to use run-ons sometimes too.

5. I ate Nutella directly out of the jar today. Delicious.

6. Sometimes I want to bawl my eyes out when Carter wakes up early from his nap.

Peace.

Let's Get Personal

Hi.

So I thought with the recent influx of followers it would be a good time to do a "get to know me" post of sorts.

Here are some things you might not know about me after taking a quick glance at my blog:

For some reason, I can't be quiet when the situation calls for it. When Carter was younger it would take a serious marathon of squats/bouncing/rocking/singing/white noise and binky-losing-and-replacing to get him to fall asleep. And then, the slightest little noise would sabotage the whole event. Anytime Tom was trying to put him to sleep I would either step on the one creaky spot on the floor of our bedroom, kick a musical toy or knock over a block tower. I'm not typically a clumsy person, but when it came to Carter being aalllmmoosst  asleep, all my coordination went out the window.

I hate, hate, hate the smell of laundry detergent (uuugghhh, why must it be so strong?? no matter what, every time I run outside, my neighbors are doing their laundry and that's all I can smell. It seriously turns my stomach. If I had to choose a scent, it would be some vanilla-y kind of smell and none of this fake "fresh" scent nonsense). 

Alright, now for the real honesty.

Don't judge me for this one...

I sometimes daydream that *NSYNC has a reunion tour and that all of my friends, cousins and I rent a huge limo, buy tons of champagne, get front row seats right next to the stage and sing our hearts out to I Want You Back and It Makes Me Ill . This reminds me, we all had a pretty awesome choreographed dance to I Want You Back, back in the day. We would perform it at the beach for our parents; once four of us performed it at a summer basketball camp to 500 people (we were so cool).

(Tom definitely just judged me for writing that. I don't care. It's the truth, I'm not ashamed.)

Oh, and here's my cooking mishap for the night:

+I burned green beans. Who does that?? That's like the easiest food not to burn.

I already have another cooking mishap to share, but I think it deserves to stand alone so I'll save it for my next post ; ) Next time I'll try to take a picture. I think I'm going to start photographing all of my food disasters. They'll probably make you feel like a really good cook.

That's all I have for you.

Bye, bye, bye.

(bhahaha)

Stabbed and a Run {don't worry, I'm OK}

Adding  Insult Injury to Injury

There I was, at the counter minding my own business, slicing an avocado for Carter. I was mid day dream (thinking about this lip gloss, probably). I cut the avocado down the middle, pulled it apart into two halves, scooped one side out no problem, sliced it, and then decided to start on the other side. This is where things started to go downhill; normally, like a normal human being, I grab a spoon and scoop out the pit. Because of said daydream a proceeded to use my knife to try to stab the pit in order to save myself the labor intensive step of taking a  spoon out of the drawer that was three inches to my left. 

What comes next is a bit gruesome--you've been warned. As I picked up the avocado  in order to get more leverage with the stabbing (curse you, lip gloss) the knife slipped (obviously, why wouldn't it slip on a slippery avocado pit?) and promptly wedged itself into the palm of my left hand. I'm not really sure if it actually go stuck in there or not because it all happened so quickly, but I can tell you one thing, I was certain it had gone all the way through  (I immediately thought, this is what it feels like to get shot in the hand with an arrow. Don't ask me why, but I've always been terrified of getting shot with an arrow. It seems way more painful than any other kind of shot wound. Maybe this comes from movies I was forced to watch in history class in high school. People were always getting shot with arrows and they always went all the way through). Fear not, it really did not go all the way through, but it sure felt like it. What followed was a small mess of things involving the color of red that I shall not mention because injuries like these make me woozy. I have to say, I do have a high pain tolerance (natural birth, anyone?), but the sight of unmentionables coming out of my own hand is just not something I like to dwell on. 

Right--I also promised information about a run. Tonight, me and my throbbing hand ran 4 miles. This was quite the accomplishment because 1) it's the first time I ran that far without walking at all and without being completely dead at the end  and 2) I did it with a sad stab wound and a zebra band-aid that flew off when I was just getting ready for the sprinting portion at the end. Which leads me to a confession. Normally, as a responsible citizen, I would pick up my flown off band-aids. However, I was just nearing the most important portion of my run and as I saw the band aid lifted into the air I realized it was just not possible to retrieve it because it would have ruined everything (meaning I would've had to stop and then I would've wanted to stay stopped). It wasn't worth the sacrifice. Forgive me. 

Confessions of a Lazy, Busy Mom

So I've been reading tons of blog posts lately about moms who don't feel like they're good enough because they spend so much time on Facebook, Pinterest, etc and think everyone else has their shist together and is the Prefect Mom. Well, here's a chance for you to feel good about yourself. Ready, go!

Confession #1: Sometimes I'm L-A-Z-Y. Like, right now, I could be doing work and being productive because Carter is napping (wooo!) But no, I watched E News and now I'm writing a blog post about how I'm doing nothing. Productive? Sure.

2. I watch E News way more than I should.

3. I hate to cook. I don't think this is so much of a confession though because I may have mentioned this 1 or 20 times on here.

4. Yesterday I went to this awesome thrift store near-ish to me where they only sell designer brands, which was pretty cool (and stuff was still cheap! woo!) Anyway, I felt SO out of place.

Even though this was a consignment store the moms in this place were all Wisteria Lane-y. There were three of them, all in their mid/late 40s, they all knew each other and all had their 8-year-old daughters with them who apparently went to school together.

Mom #1 was all (oh my little Janey donated this dress, and this one over here, oh and this LILY PULITZER one over here, and....) Hooray Mom #1, good for you Mrs. Do-Gooder!

Mom #2, We'll call her Working Mom, was going on and on about a conference call she had in 30 minutes, and basically how important she was at work.

Mom #3 AKA Chauffeur, was listing all the places she was taking her platoon that evening (dance class, karate, violin lessons...she pretty much only left out space camp)

It was a bit much, but entertaining to say the least. It was like I was in the background of a Real Housewives of Town in Suburban Massachusetts show. So the confession part is that apparently I'm kind of judgy because I don't want to live in a picture-perfect suburban town because the moms there seem kind of annoying. Obviously, this is a huge, sweeping generalization and I'm sure there are plenty of nice women that reside there, but when I have to interact with Carter's friends' moms in the future, I really don't want to deal with high-school-like cliques. Maybe it's inevitable, but I'd like to avoid it if I can!

And just in case you still aren't feeling up to par, here's a bit more to lift your spirits: I haven't swept/vacuumed my stairs in almost 2 weeks (gasp), my car is a disaster (empty water bottles and Dunkin Donuts cups are running a muck in there), there are 6 dirty dishes on my counter right now (only 2 of us use real plates), and yesterday I threw Carter's clean clothes in a pile instead of folding them.